Shadow Love
by Random-Fandom-Sauce
Summary: T for a reason, triggers and not-nice-stuff. Arthur has given up caring. Francis doesn't care about him so why should he care about anything? Rated T for death and stuff.


So... My friend almost overdosed and this is the screwed up result of that... sorry it's not so good. And I have no regrets with the bad apple lyrics. Deal with it. ;P

* * *

Arthur sighed again and looked into the bathroom mirror, pulling faces and trying to look more attractive. Francis had told him goodness knows how many times how he needed to take better care of himself and how he didn't want to be seen with someone who didn't care how he looked. Of course Francis was right, he was from Paris in France, one of the most fashionable places on earth. Arthur used to believe that London was quite fashionable too, but Francis had quickly put him strait on that front.

Francis. Where was he now, Arthur wondered? He had told him that he was going out with two of his friends, Antonio and Gilbert. Arthur knew from listening to the one-sided conversation that Francis had been having before he left that Antonio's boyfriend Lovino and Gil's girlfriend Madison were going. Arthur knew better than to ask for an invitation, he had made that mistake for to many times before.

_'__But, why, my dear? You are already rather large, why would you want to come out to eat more?'_

_'__you are getting fat, Arthur, I shan't feed you until you go back down to a size 8. Size 10 is unbecoming and _fat_.'_

_'__But, Arthur, dearest Arthur, why would you want to come? You don't like going out in public?'_

_'__Arthur, you need to make yourself more presentable first, sort out your hair, your eyebrows, your weight first! Yes?'_

_'__But Arthur, you're too ugly.'_

_'__You should feel grateful that I'm willing to date you, no one else would!'_

_'__I'm the only one who cares about you, Arthur! No one else would accept you!'_

Asking made no difference, Arthur knew by now that he wasn't good looking enough to go out and see people, he was lucky that someone as good looking as Francis agreed to go out with him. But was he? When had Francis last kissed him, hugged him, held his hand- no, screw that. When was the last time that Francis had told him something nice, or just smiled at him? Francis didn't care! _No one _cared! No one ever had! His step dad didn't, his brothers had bullied him growing up, his best friend had left him telling him that no one could possibly like him… he was all alone.

Arthur's breathing began to speed up, his heart beet becoming erratic. He was seeing stars and feeling light headed, wobbling dangerously and gripping at the bathroom sink. Francis didn't love him. No one loved him. He was all alone. It didn't matter, none of it.

The love he had once thought Francis felt for him was an illusion. Sharp, shooting pain fell through Arthur like a bullet. He didn't have anywhere else to go, and he had no one else to go to. Sure, he had a few acquaintances, but no one he'd call a friend. Alfred had abandoned him and Jet had moved away to Australia. Arthur had no job and no money. Francis had made sure of that.

Maybe he could just tell Francis. Maybe. But Arthur was tired of all the pain. His heart hadn't slowed and his breath was still ragged and his head was still swimming and it was all too much- Paracetamol. That's what he had when he was ill. He grappled with the cabinet door, trying to pry it open. Then he stopped. Arthur wasn't stupid; he knew too much could kill you. That wasn't the question; the question was whether or not he wanted it to kill him. Suicide? That really wasn't his style… but then again, what did he have to live for anymore? Who would care? Once again, he made for the medicine cabinet, taking down a box of pills. Slowly, he pushed them all out, one by one, onto his hand. Then the next box. He let the boxes drop to the floor and counted the pills. 26 in total. Was that enough? He hoped so. He was just about to take them when he realized; no note.

Arthur was nowhere close to being a suicide expert- he'd never self-harmed or anything like that- but he did know that you were supposed to leave a note. Not letting the pills fall from his hand, he opened the bathroom door and entered the bedroom. There, on the desk, a pen and lined paper.

He let the pills drop onto the bed and strode over to the desk to begin writing.

_Dear Francis,_

_Ever on and on I continue circling  
With nothing but my hate in a carousel of agony  
Till slowly I forget and my heart starts vanishing  
And suddenly I see that I can't break free—_

I'm

Slipping through the cracks of a dark eternity  
With nothing but my pain and the paralyzing agony  
To tell me who I am, who I was  
Uncertainty enveloping my mind  
Till I can't break free

And

_Maybe it's a dream; maybe nothing else is real  
But it wouldn't mean a thing if I told you how I feel  
So I'm tired of all the pain, all the misery inside  
And I wish that I could live feeling nothing but the night  
You can tell me what to say; you can tell me where to go  
But I doubt that I would care, and my heart would never know  
If I make another move there'll be no more turning back  
Because everything will change and it all will fade to black  
If I make another move, if I take another step  
Then it all would fall apart. There'd be nothing of me left  
If I'm crying in the wind, if I'm crying in the night  
Will there ever be a way? Will my heart return to white?  
Can you tell me who you are? Can you tell me where I am?  
I've forgotten how to see; I've forgotten if I can  
If I opened up my eyes there'd be no more going back  
'Cause I'd throw it all away and it all would fade to black_

_Arthur x_

He held the note tightly, folded in his hand, before scooping up the pills and swallowing them whole, in two's and three's. Smiling, for the first time in months, he lay down on the bed and closed his eyes, thinking back to the last to lines of his letter.

**_'_****_If I opened up my eyes there'd be no more going back  
'Cause I'd throw it all away and it all would fade to black'_**

* * *

****The funeral was a small affair, the priest noted, just five men, and three women. All of them were sobbing bar one. He struggled to remember the man's name- something French. Francois? No… Ferrin? Definitely not- oh yes! Francis! This was the dead man's partner. The look on his face said it pain, no sorrow, just guilt. Heaven would forgive the dead man for taking his own life, and being gay was not a sin to the church in the priest's eyes, but The lord would not forgive this man. Not for driving another to such measures as this. He would not be forgiven for that… At least not until he had learnt to forgive himself.


End file.
